


Waiting on your call

by kateyboosh



Category: The Mighty Boosh RPF
Genre: Banter, Gratuitous Rolling Stones references, Like the thinnest veil of plot, M/M, Mischief and monkey business because that's my MO, Okay fine I'm getting out of the tags now bye, Phone Sex, Platonic comedy partners, Porn Without Plot, Smut, a little bit of longing, because why not, noelian - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:59:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24845677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kateyboosh/pseuds/kateyboosh
Summary: "Noel laughs, still a bit breathless. 'Two aged comedians way past their prime have a communal wank by moonlight.''Sources say no one can tell the difference between this offensive event and their regular shows,' Julian picks up."Just a couple of platonic comedy partners sending dick pics and having phone sex. As they'd do.
Relationships: Julian Barratt/Noel Fielding
Comments: 10
Kudos: 19





	Waiting on your call

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starsonthebrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsonthebrow/gifts).



> [killahdillah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/killahdillah/profile) puts ideas into my head that can't go into the tags on Tumblr because they'd just get us into trouble (much like Noel, we cannot behave). Count the references to cheeky faves! <3
> 
> That pic of Noel wearing his leopard coat and not much else Fully used as ficspiration.
> 
> Just gonna lean in to the theme of “Rolling Stones tunes as Boosh fic inspiration” for as long as I can get away with it. I blame/adore [Terrantalen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terrantalen/pseuds/Terrantalen) for making this a trend with [6:17](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24721612) and for encouraging my nonsense in general. <3:

_“Yeah, when you lay me out  
_ _My heart is beating louder than a big bass drum,[alright](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=To7q0cn0Fk4)” _

He struts into his bedroom like Jagger, lips pursed, hips and shoulders rolling in perfectly wild, dangerous coordination.

Well. He struts into his bedroom, mostly like Jagger. Like a tidying-up-around-the-flat, desperately-need-to-do-laundry, “has-anyone-seen-my-last-pair-of-clean-socks?” Jagger. A domestic Jagger, forced to wear last tour’s velvet jumpsuit with swimming trunks as pants.

Noel has his phone in one hand, blasting the Stones at top volume, laundry basket propped on his hip with the other. He smiles shyly at his reflection in the mirrored closet door, setting his phone on the windowsill before shaking his finger at himself, full Mick pout on his face. 

His shirt lifts up around his hips when he stretches his arms above his head, turning to toss a discarded top and some drainpipes in the basket, following them up with a clap of his hands as the horn section kicks in. It’s back to soft, worn-in, bottom-of-the-drawer t-shirts until he can get his rainbow of buttondowns to the dry cleaner. The basket gets alarmingly full before the fadeout of the song, swirls of color and patterns spilling over the sides as he swaggers around the room, pulling handfuls of material out of nowhere. 

He gives himself one last cheeky clap and point, hips on a swivel, before flopping down on the bed as the song changes. Eyes closed, he runs a hand through his hair, brushing it back off his forehead. Mick’s lament bounces off the window as he catches his breath.

_“In the silk sheet of time_  
_I will find peace of mind  
[Love is a bed full of blues](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KZ7VZ_xcsio)”_

His phone buzzes on the windowsill. He’s tempted to leave it, let the rest of the album play out before he heads to do a quick tidy around the kitchen, then cut the grass. When his phone buzzes again, Mick picking up steam now, echoing plaintively against the glass, he smooths his fringe and gets up.

He can’t keep the smile from his face when he sees the texts.

“All done already ? I was enjoying the show .”

“Really gave Jagger a run for his money . Exile on main st. Or goats head soup ?”

A prickle of mischief runs through his fingertips, hovering over the tiny photo on the screen next to Julian’s name before he taps a message back.

“no it was sticky fingers ;) x” he responds, tongue stuck in the corner of his mouth as he types.

Julian texts back instantly.

“Good choice . Will you be recreating the cover as well ?”

Noel grins.

“the one with the working zipper? ;) x x x”

A little glow dances around the nape of his neck. Julian stopped to watch him at random. Julian actually told him that he stopped to watch him at random. He wants to peek out the window and see if Julian’s still there, framed by glass. He’s afraid if he looks, he’ll scare him away, watch him dart back into his study like a frightened animal, wary of attention but secretly craving affection all the same.

He peeks down as sneakily as he can manage. No Julian in the window, but there’s a large white piece of paper with a string of numbers written on it, starting with an 8.23 and trailing off into miniscule print before going off the edge of the page.

His phone buzzes again.

“Final score . could have used more wiggling about . a little light on the thrusting .”

Noel cackles.

“prick, that was at least deserving of a 9! x x x x x”

He goes outside to cut the grass, his cheeks flushed even before the sun hits them.

*

He doesn't have much tidying to do the next day, but Noel does it again that morning, parading around like Mick as Miss You pumps out of the overworked speaker of his phone.

It’s warmer today, the sun streaming in the windows. He’s cursing his choice of the [seven and a half minute dance version](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QpN3feTRwsg), sweating before the first guitar solo ends. Before he changes his mind, he plants himself in front of his window, pulling his shirt over his head in one movement and tossing it aside, shimmying his hips out of his drainpipes. He wiggles about in his pants and thrusts for all he’s worth, hips on full blast, feeling slightly ridiculous but mostly gleeful and stupidly, stupidly exhilarated.

He channels Mick, telegraphing his movements, projecting them out like he would do to the furthest reaches of an arena, exaggerating the waggle of his finger. When he catches a glimpse of Julian standing at his window, his hair rumpled, he bites his lip and turns, his bare back facing the window. No hesitating now. Fingers knotted in his waistband, he flashes Julian the curve of his bare arse, his movements sure and coquettish as he struts away from the window.

He collapses in a fit of joyful giggles on his bed. Completely ridiculous, yes, but the most fun he’s had in ages.

His phone buzzes within ten seconds.

“astounding ! A command performance . full marks”

Noel chances an obvious glance out his window this time. Julian’s shaking his head, brows raised in amusement as he waves. He can hear exactly what Julian’s laugh sounds like in his head despite the panes of glass and the distance between them. Noel taps at his phone.

“full moon out during the day time x”

“A rarity this time of year . Didn’t need my telescope to spot it . Shame as i have quite a collection in my study”

He throws his head back and cackles as Julian sweeps the curtain aside with a flourish, waggling his eyebrows like a demented seller of curios. He laughs even harder when Julian barely has to move to pick up an antique telescope in a deep brown leather case, sliding it out and displaying it with comically graceful movements.

“who even has that on hand x” Noel texts back. "clearly you're the ridiculous one in this relationship x x x"

*

The next day, Noel is bored. By evening, everything's tidied within an inch of its life, and it’s still gray and pissing down rain outside. He could go and paint something, or sketch, but his mood isn’t right. He knows he’ll end up frustrated if he tries, painting over whatever he does manage to get on the canvas. He decides to make a mess; give himself something to tidy up later on before bed.

Noel tries on everything left in his closet, unearthing pieces he forgot he had. He leaves a pile of clothing on the floor at the foot of his bed and hangers at odd angles on the closet bar. The further back he gets, the more restless he feels.

He runs his fingers lovingly over his silver de Havillands, tucked in the back corner of his closet. They mold perfectly to his feet when he slides them on, the toes battered and worn, but the leather still supple. He brushes past sequins and vintage coats and cutoff dresses, sliding his palm down the canvassy sleeves of a couple of matching green jackets where they hang together. His fingers dart between the cuffs and collar of the larger one. 

Noel grabs his phone off the dresser and makes a decision before he even realizes, tossing his boots back in the closet and stripping off his shirt.

His favorite drainpipes are a bit tighter than the ones the mystery model wore on the cover of Sticky Fingers. He feels a little thrill as he slides the material up his legs, working it over the thick muscle of his thighs and the curve of his arse. This pair has been tailored and mended many times, and the zip won't stay up all the way no matter how many times it's been replaced; it always unzips itself within the first few hours of wear every time. Perfect to recreate the cover, then.

He rifles through the belts in his dresser drawer, scattered in amongst unpaired socks. He sighs when he comes up short. For once, he doesn't have the accessory he needs; nothing comes close to the one on the cover.

He bites at the tip of his thumb and considers how he wants to do this. He catches a glimpse of his reflection in the mirrored closet door, a miniature version of himself reflected in his open camera, his fingers hesitant on the screen. All of a sudden, he feels silly, not sexy. 

Noel takes a breath, letting his hand drop out of his mouth. His eyes fall on his furry leopard coat, half hanging out of the closet door. The sleeve's caught in the gap. Beckoning. 

He tosses his phone in the sheets and wriggles out of his drainpipes, kicking them aside. He slips the coat on, leaving it unbuttoned but gathering the edges together. The satiny lining feels nice and cool on his back in contrast to the warm weight of the coat, the fake fur tickling at his bare chest, tendrils of his hair tickling at his neck, feather light. He perches on his bed and scrapes his hand over his stubble, his fingers paused, curling over his bottom lip as he feels blood rush to his dick.

When he meets his own eyes reflected back at him in the mirror, he shivers.

He lets go of the coat, sitting up straight as he runs his hands down his ribs, down the dip of his waist. He hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his pants, sliding them down his hips slowly. He almost kicks them into the clothes pile on the floor. Grinning wickedly, he crosses his legs, leaving them dangling off one ankle instead as he reaches behind himself to search for his phone in the sheets.

When he opens the camera, he makes a snap decision. Pictures feel too impersonal this time around. He swipes to video.

*

It lasts thirteen seconds.

Noel films himself sitting on the edge of his bed, hand loosely curled holding his coat closed, hovering over his dick which has gone very hard very quickly. He lets the coat fall open slightly, exposing a bit of his pale chest. When he uncrosses his legs, pants dropping to the carpet in front of him, he cuts his eyes up. He blinks, taking in the view of himself, smirking as he sits up straighter. He lengthens his body, arching his back, a wicked grin on his face as he pulls the coat back all the way, his dick on full display. He methodically licks his palm, angling his face toward the mirror as he works his jaw, the slide of his tongue wet and dirty and ticklish against his own skin.

His dick is as pink as his lips and almost as wet as he curls his hand around himself and starts to stroke in earnest, slowly sliding from base to tip. He hums out a low “mmm,” breath hitching in his chest as his head falls back. He stops the video.

Noel watches it back three times, then sends it to Julian with eight x’s as a caption.

He tosses his phone on the center of the bed and immediately goes to shower, pushing the pile of clothing out of his way to the bathroom. He’s snapped loads of cheeky dick pics through the years, but he can’t remember ever feeling nervous at the response. Breathing in the steam helps, as does running his hands through his hair and over his body before bringing himself off. He teases the tip of one finger between his lips, biting at his thumbnail and groaning around it when he comes, his mind blessedly empty save the sensation. He rinses himself off before washing his hair and polishing his skin.

When he pads back to his bedroom, he makes himself slip into pants and a t-shirt before checking his phone. Julian’s texted him one line.

“I’ll call you tonight x”

Noel breathes a sigh of relief and brings up his keyboard.

"I'll be waiting x x x"

He falls asleep with a smile on his face.

*

Noel wakes to his phone vibrating on his chest. He squints at the bright screen; it’s just before 2AM. He swipes to answer and brings the phone to his ear, eyes dazed at the sudden shock of light. “Hi,” he answers, his voice lazy and soft. He scrapes his hand over his face, leaning his head back into the pillow as he stretches against the sheets.

Julian's voice is fuzzy on the phone, but it’s still deep and rich and warm and safe. It sends blood rushing to his dick immediately.

“Morning,” Julian responds, clearing his throat. "Er, it is technically morning, right?" 

"Yeah, I suppose," Noel says, shifting to pull the sheets away from his body. "How're you?"

"Good, good. Quiet here. Been up reading." He can hear Julian's chair creaking, a hardback cover hitting his desk as he shuffles through pages. " _The History of Philosophy_."

"How's that?" _It sounds awful_. 

"It's awful," Julian responds. "Also, it's actually called _The Philosophy of History_. Wouldn't recommend either." His chuckle is laced with a touch of apprehension; Noel hears it immediately. There's a pause in the conversation, neither knowing how to segue from pleasantries into what they both want to do. 

An odd rustling noise fills up the connection when Julian tucks his phone between his shoulder and his ear. It sounds like he's slid a plastic wrapper into the shoulder pads of a wrinkled linen suit. 

Noel's still fuzzy with sleep when he blurts out, “Julian, what you wearing?” in the least sexy, most incredulous tone he's ever used. He winces. Maybe Julian's missed it as he repositioned his phone. If he asks Noel to repeat himself, he will. In the most sexy, least incredulous tone he's ever used.

"Oh, this little number? Thought I'd save myself the cleanup afterwards. Already naked, standing in the shower. Got a bit chilly reading my book and wrapped the curtain around myself."

Noel cackles. He sees his chance and takes it. He drops his voice down to a low, playful murmur, the one he'd use with his fingers curled into Julian's shirt, the one that guaranteed Julian would pick him up and pin him to the nearest flat surface. 

"Really, Julian, what are you wearing?"

Julian hesitates, still nervous. Uncertain. 

"Because I ain't wearing much. Didn't want to have to take a lot off." He pauses, putting his phone on speaker, sitting up in bed. "Only a t-shirt and little pants." He reaches for the hem of his shirt and slides the fabric over his head, dropping it on the floor. "Just pants now. Those little pink ones, with the white trim. You remember what they look like, don't you, Ju'n?" 

He knows Julian remembers: they've starred in more than one cheeky dick pic in recent history. He knows Julian remembers sliding them down his thighs, too, the last time they saw each other in person and Julian bent him over the couch in his study. 

Julian hums his confirmation, sounding a little less nervous. He drops his voice as close as he can get to a whisper and still have the mic pick it up. "I'm taking them off, Ju, same as you did. Nice and slow," he breathes. Noel pulls the pants off over his straining cock, inch by inch, tossing them to crown the clothing pile at the foot of his bed. 

"That's it," he breathes into the phone. "Just me and the moonlight now." 

Julian clears his throat, twice, and for a moment, Noel's afraid it hasn't worked. 

His voice is deep and threaded with promise when he speaks. "No boots, then?" 

"No boots," Noel confirms, the tone sending little sparks dancing across his bare skin. He pauses, knowing Julian's remembering all the times he kept them on, the cool press of leather sliding against his waist, Noel's ankles locking behind his back, drawing him in deeper. "I can put some on, though," he says, tongue coming out to lick at his lips. 

Julian clears his throat again. "No. Just as you are."

"Mmm, okay." He shifts again, the sheets rustling, his dick aching to be touched. "Ju, 'm so hard already. All wet, just hearing your voice." He runs his hands over his chest, lightly brushing over his nipples, trailing down to his stomach, the mic picking up the slide of skin on skin. 

"My skin's so soft, Julian," he breathes. He darts his tongue around his lips and then forces himself to go slower, dragging it across his bottom lip like Julian would. He stops short of his cock, scraping his thumb through the dark hair trailing down from his bellybutton.

He can hear Julian breathing on the other end of the phone. His tone is thrillingly predatory when he speaks, appraising; if he was in the room, Noel knows he'd be blushing bright red, squirming with anticipation under his gaze. "I know. It always is. You always are. Go ahead, touch yourself." 

He hears the slide of fabric on the other end, the tap of the phone as Julian sets it on his desk. "Touch yourself, Noel. For me."

He shivers, his hand wrapping around his dick, moaning at the touch and at the way Julian says his name, like a rare, precious secret between just the two of them. 

He can hear Julian starting to stroke himself, can picture his cock and his big hands and the pink of his lips in the dark. The first soft moan that he makes has Noel scraping his nails against the sheets, gripping a fistful to anchor himself. 

He slowly thumbs the head of his cock, pretending it's Julian's hand on him. A little exhale that he cuts short hits the mic of his phone as he moans Julian's name. 

"Is this good? Do you like it?" Julian breathes back. Noel moans out a low yes, the s hissing drawn out past his wet lips. It's the same type of question Julian would ask if he was in the room, his hand wrapped around Noel's dick as he slowly, gently fingered him. 

He can hear Julian's fist speed up and he knows Julian's wanking himself the way Noel would, desperate to bring him to orgasm, to make him forget everything in the world except Noel, to make him come moaning Noel's name. He whimpers at the thought, his own hand slow and steady on his dick, wanking himself the way Julian would, drawing out every bit of pleasure slowly, holding him captive in the moment, all his.

Noel moans at the thought, speeding his fist a bit. "I wish you were kissing me right now, Julian. I need you to kiss me-" he pants, his voice desperate. He cuts himself off with a sighed "ohhhh."

Julian groans, the sound all chocolate and cream, rippling over Noel's skin. It should be Julian lying next to him, head on the pillow, moaning in Noel's ear, not a phone. He grabs the phone and puts it on his chest, trying to feel the heat and vibration from the rattling speaker against his skin. It's not enough. 

He sits up, scraping his hand along his bedside table until he finds his earbuds. They're knotted horribly; he doesn't care. He puts them in his ears and plugs them into his phone. One bit of tangled cord runs over his chin as he sets the phone back on his chest like a hot weight above his heart. 

As badly as he wants Julian's body pressed into his, he wants Julian's voice all to himself, deep in his ears. He doesn't want to share a drop with the room, not wanting his rich voice that's just for Noel to evaporate when it hits the air. It's immediately better; his skin still aches for Julian's touch, but every one of his gasps and moans filters directly into Noel's ears and brain and shoot straight to his dick.

"Nearly there," Julian gasps. All Noel can do is say his name over and over again in response. He can hear the longing in his own voice, as if he could summon Julian right into the room if he wanted him enough.

The moans Julian makes when he comes are the moans he should be making into Noel's mouth, buzzing against his skin as he sucks kisses onto his stomach, Noel's fingernails scraping at the back of his neck in desperation as he hums around him. He's right on the edge, right there with him, but he can't, not yet-

"Julian, I need to- I need to see you," he gasps, his legs shaky as he crosses to the window. He holds his phone in one hand gingerly so his tangled earbuds don't pull out, and leans his arm on the window, bracing himself. The glass is cool against his skin, beads of rain sliding down the outside. 

Julian's waiting for him at the window, phone to his ear. His hair is wild and even from afar, Noel can see his resplendent, relaxed expression, the afterglow curving around his features like a lazy, sated jungle cat. "I'm here," he says softly, pressing his long fingers to the glass.

It's too much, all at once. Noel leans his forehead against his arm, breath fogging the window. His grip on his phone turns the volume of Julian's soft voice up to near overwhelming levels as he strokes himself once, twice, a third time. He comes with his head thrown back, Julian's murmurs of "beautiful" echoing through his body. His hand holding his phone comes to rest on his brow, knuckles pressed against his eyelid, neck exposed in the moonlight. His wet hand flies up to his ribcage, trying to anchor him to his own body as the world shrinks to a pinprick behind his eyelids.

He crumples up underneath the window, his legs gone wobbly, as he catches his breath. He uses Julian's steady, even breathing as a guide to remember how to calm his beating heart.

Julian's the first to break the silence, clearing his throat again. Noel giggles sheepishly, feeling his flushed face flush again. "That was good, Ju'n," he whispers. 

"Yeah, very," Julian agrees, his voice warm and amused. Noel detects a slight hint that he's still a little turned on. "But did it occur to you that, uh. We should have perhaps video chatted and not flashed the entire neighborhood at 2AM?"

Noel laughs, still a bit breathless. "All the scandalized bats and mice will sell us out to the red tops. 'Two aged comedians way past their prime have a communal wank by moonlight.'"

"'Sources say no one can tell the difference between this offensive event and their regular shows,'" Julian picks up. 

"'Fielding preens and Barratt broods. There's no difference at all. Save your money and stand outside their windows at midnight.'"

Julian chuckles. "'The second act is even worse than the first. Jumping into a viper pit is more pleasant to witness.'" He coughs. "Goodnight, then. It was good," he adds softly.

"G'night, Ju," Noel sighs. He tugs his earbuds out and watches Julian's picture blink off of his screen. He waits the space of a few breaths before getting up, already replaying the scene in his head.

He walks past his mirror, his hair as wild as Julian's, fingers sliding over the screen before tapping into his video chat app. His finger hovers over Julian's name for a second too long; a call comes in. 

From Julian.

He answers, beaming, and flops down on his bed. 

*

They video chat nearly all night long, laughing and joking like they used to. Noel's bed isn't as big as their old one, but he feels warm and safe and so happy. They talk about everything and nothing, Julian teasing and making faces and smiling on his screen. 

When weak sunlight starts flooding into Noel's bedroom, he groans. His eyes are tired; it's been a long time since they pulled an all-nighter like this. Julian yawns and stretches. "Morning." He greets Noel as if it's a brand new conversation, as if they haven't spent all night together. He smiles. "Definitely morning now."

"Hideous," Noel drawls. "Sunlight'll melt my skin right off if it touches me. One of the few drawbacks of being an ancient vampire." 

Julian chuckles fondly. "Go draw your velvet curtains and get some sleep, Nosferatu."

"I'm getting in my coffin now." Noel pulls a face and swings his legs over the bed to rustle in his dresser for a pair of pants. When he turns back to the bed, he catches his bare back and arse in the mirrored closet door. Julian laughs.

"Have you been naked this entire time?"

"Course," he squeaks. "You didn't give me enough time to get dressed before you called me, did you?"

He gets a momentary view of Julian's ceiling as he drops his hand down, giggling hysterically, unable to stop himself after staying up all night. 

"'m sure you've bundled yourself into about thirteen layers by now," Noel half-pouts.

"Yep," Julian gasps, "I'm more fabric than man." He catches his breath. Clearly, he's wearing a striped t-shirt and pajama pants. "I've swaddled myself in a tweed chastity belt." 

Noel shakes his head. There's a pause as Julian recovers. Even through the phone screen, his eyes are hot against Noel's skin. And Noel hasn't moved to change the angle of the view.

Noel knows his angles, alright, whether it's for a selfie or a dick pic or something else. He moves his wrist ever so slightly, tilting his head out of the way, his stubbled jaw in frame along with the length of his bare back and arse and legs in the mirror. 

"Nice view, that," Julian remarks. Noel is half-hard just from the sound of Julian's voice, silky against those three words.

He bites his lip, letting it pop out of his mouth, and silently changes the camera view. He turns to face the mirror, sitting on the edge of his bed, legs spread wide. 

Julian's lip twitches as he wraps his hand around his cock and starts stroking himself to fullness.

And he slowly, slowly wanks for Julian, moaning and whimpering, stretching his body out in the lightening space of his bedroom. The pleasure is harder to chase this time, muted, and he teases it out. When he comes, it's hard to hold his phone straight, his body shaking with a third orgasm in less than 24 hours. When he comes, Julian's watching his face, and he's watching Julian.

**Author's Note:**

> For those keeping score at home, Bitch and I Got the Blues are from Sticky Fingers. The original album cover did in fact have a working zipper, which was super cool, but also horrible because it, um, y'know. Ruined the vinyl. Oops! 
> 
> The dance version of Miss You that I used in the fic and for the title is from the Rarities 1971-2003 release.


End file.
